


173 - Dad Van Mega-Mix

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Dad Van, F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 06:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17401832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling a bunch of baby/child themed requests. We have: Van helping Reader through labour (“with all the gross ins and outs”), Van being a very attentive and hands on father (e.g. will get up in the night even if it’s not his turn) and doesn’t need to have the kid all to himself (“some fathers want to have private special moments with the baby, but Van doesn’t… Like, he wants you to be in every moment, building every memory”), Van feeling bad about leaving for tour, Van coming home and his kid has grown up a bit and doesn’t really recognise him, and everyone swooning over Van and Reader’s toddler.





	173 - Dad Van Mega-Mix

There were many things about giving birth that nobody spoke about. Mostly, those things related to body fluid. People could talk and talk and talk about the miracle of bringing a perfect little human being into the world, they could spend hours going through the ins and outs of the exhaustion and subsequent joy, but… the blood. The unidentifiable yellowy goop. White sticky stuff. All unsaid. So, despite reading about it in books and online, it was all still very overwhelming to be drained of any and all liquid your body could produce. Even your nose poured with snot. In the moment, you couldn't work out if you were crying because of that, or because you were tired, or because of the pain, or because of everything else ever.

Van wiped the sweat and snot away, and when the contractions reached their painful peak, he did what the doctor said and applied as much pressure to your lower back as possible. "Remember. They said it's worse if you fight it," Van said in an attempt to help.

"Get absolutely fucked, Van. Feels like my internal organs are being fucking twisted and pulled out with the goddamn fucking baby," you spat. Van didn't reply but just continued to rub your back. The doctors and nursing staff seemed unfazed by your swearing. They'd probably heard worse.

When the baby crowned and slowly started to emerge from the womb, you screamed so loud for a second nobody in the room could hear anything else. Van made a sound that indicated your grip on his hand was hurting but he stopped himself before complaining. He probably wasn't in as much pain as you, you know?

"Almost there, Y/N. One more push," the doctor said.

"I can't," you whispered.

"Yeah, you can. Come on, babe. Count of three, yeah?" Van said. You looked up at him and shook your head. He nodded and grinned, like childbirth wasn't the hardest thing you'd ever have to put your body through. Like it wasn't something that had literally killed people before.

"One," the doctor started. "Two. Ready Y/N? Three!"

You pushed and in a wave of God knows what, your baby girl was brought into the world. She was already screaming, filling her little lungs with oxygen for the first time. You had expected them to take her to clean and weigh and check because that's what happened in movies. Hollywood likes pink, pretty things though; not shaking, fragile, lumps of crying human flesh. A nurse took her straight from the doctor's hands and put her on your chest. The umbilical cord was still connecting you to her. Your hand left Van's and you put both yours around the baby. He was probably having a moment but you weren't interested in that. The love for the small thing in your hands was instant and world shattering. She was all you would ever care about again.

"Fuck, Y/N. Look at her," you heard Van say.

"Alright, Dad. You want to cut the cord?"

You watched as Van followed the instructions carefully. The cord was somehow both disgusting and beautiful, kind of like childbirth itself. A nurse started to wipe the baby clean with a warm towel, but she remained on your chest. Her eyes were open, blue, and looking around.

"She's the best baby that's ever existed," Van said.

"Does the best baby have a name?" the nurse asked. You looked at Van, he grinned at you then nodded at the nurse.

"Lyla. Her name's Lyla,"

"Ah! An Oasis fan, maybe? Because you've waited a thousand years for her, and she's the queen of all you've seen?" the doctor beamed, walking over and listening to your heart and Lyla's with his stethoscope.

"See! Told ya people would know," Van said to you, happy that upon hearing her name for the very first time, the world responded how he wanted it to.

"I'm just happy she's not a Khalessi. Had three of them this month!" the nurse said, laughing.

 

...

 

Van had never been a selfish person. He wasn't possessive or jealous. His pack of smokes - your packet of smokes - Larry's packet - anyone that asked for one. His castle - your castle. That kind of thing. That innate part of his personality extended to how he spent time with Lyla. He never disappeared with her for quiet father-daughter moments. He was happy to have them around other people, with other people. He was secure in his role in her life.

Another trait Van had that helped in the first months of Lyla's life was his ability to run on little sleep. There was no such thing as your turn and his turn to get up in the night when she cried. When people would ask, you'd tell them there was, because every second time you would stumble through the darkness to her, pick her up and rock her back to sleep. Every time though, Van would wake too. He was able to snap from a sleepy haze to being fully alert; you were not. On your 'turns' he'd stand in the doorway and wait to see if you needed anything. Sometimes he'd rest his head on your shoulder and hold his arms around you from behind. Soothing you as much as you were soothing Lyla.

Van was also pragmatic and proud of you both. He'd have to bite down on his lip to stop from saying anything when people would look at you in public for breastfeeding. Not only did he believe it didn't make sense that people would care because Lyla had to eat and it was just the way that happened, but he was proud of how quickly you'd adapted to that part of motherhood.

Essentially, all the things that Van was, all the things that made him a good son, friend, partner, person, they made him a naturally good father too. It seemed to come so easily to him.

There was a day where Lyla was under the weather. She wasn't sick sick, but she was running a bit hot and was clearly uncomfortable. You'd spent the morning calling everyone you knew. Your family. Mary and Bernie. Your friend that was a nurse. The medical advice number. Everyone said the same thing. Lyla was fine. Just let her rest. Her crying though was upsetting at best. At worst it was tragic and made you feel like a failure of a parent. By lunch you gave in and called Van. He was somewhere in the city with Catfish's manager.

Van found you and Lyla laying on your bed. She was crying and so were you. Her sobs were loud but you were silent. You were creating more tears than her though. He didn't know where to start. He picked Lyla up and crawled onto the bed on his knees. He sat back on his legs, and pulled his hoodie sleeve over his hand. He wiped the tears from your face.

"Come here," he said to you. You sat up and let him hug you and Lyla close. "You're okay, Y/N," he whispered.

"She won't stop crying but everyone says she's fine. I don't know what to do," you told him. He nodded and looked at Lyla carefully, feeling her forehead with the back of his hand.

"Checked her temperature?"

"Yeah, it was a couple of degrees higher before, but she's back down to 37,"

"Have you tried the paracetamol stuff? In the dropper thing?"

"I didn't want to without you seeing her first," you explained. It seemed like a big decision to make without both parents there. Lyla's first foray into drugs.

"Why? You're her mum, Y/N. You know what she needs. Come on, let's try that, yeah?"

You nodded and followed him into the bathroom. When Van tried to hand Lyla over so he could measure out the pain killing liquid, you said no. "She's already quietened down since you've been holding her," you said.

Lyla didn't like having her mouth opened and she squirmed and screamed as you and Van forced the medicine down her throat. She wasn't hurt but it still felt violent. You knew it would help her but you still cried too.

"Alright. Think we all need to calm down," Van said. How could he stay so calm? "Y/N. Go put the kettle on. I'll put Ly to bed,"

"You're gonna leave her?"

"Yeah. Think some of this crying is for show. See how she goes with medicine and time alone," he said with a shrug.

You sat in Van's lap on the couch not drinking the tea. Lyla cried for a long time before going quiet. You peeked your head into her room and listened to her even breathing before returning to Van on the couch.

"She's asleep,"

"Told ya. Nothing to worry about,"

"I freaked out, Van. I didn’t know what to do and I just got upset. What if something happens to her and you're not here and I freak out?"

"Nothing's going to happen, babe."

He was so sure and that overwhelming confidence would seep into you eventually. It would be a voice in your head that said 'yep, this is the right thing for her' and 'I know this is hard, but you gotta keep going,' and 'threaten to sue them if they kick you out of this café for breastfeeding.' It would be the pride whenever Lyla took one more step than she ever had before or when she first started to form words. It would be a confidence that nobody on Earth could love her and care for her like you could, except for maybe Van. But only maybe.

 

…

 

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so fuckin' sorry, Y/N." Van had been apologising all morning. It was unnecessary. "The label says if we don't do a proper tour it's gonna be harder to get back to the position we were in before. I don't… I don't know what to do."

"Van. Come here," you beckoned him. He crossed the kitchen and stood in front of you. Wrapping your arms around his neck, he took the cue and held your hips. "We knew you'd have to start touring again,"

"Yeah, but not this soon,"

"It's been a year. You've done a couple of shows away and Ly's been fine. You have to start working again. We knew you would."

Van pulled you closer and nuzzled into the crook of your neck. He nodded. From her bedroom, Lyla's crying broke the silence. Instantly, Van was kissing your cheek and walking out the kitchen.

 

…

 

The morning Van had to leave was horrible. Even the weather seemed to catch on to the misery. It was bucketing down and when Larry arrived to pick up Van, you couldn't find him. Then, when you saw Lyla was missing from her high chair, you knew where he'd disappeared to 

In the doorway of her bedroom, Van was cuddling her close to his chest. He was sitting in the corner of the room, on the floor.

"Perfectly good rocking chair right there," you said.

"I can't do this."

You walked to your family and sat against the wall too. Lyla was sleeping. She was warm and healthy and loved. The queen of all you'd seen.

"Have to. Gotta keep this rockstar stuff up, yeah? Stadium gigs pay for her books and toys and a good school and everything you've ever wanted her to have,"

"I know. I know. I just… Look at her,"

"I've been looking at her for over a year, Van. Not saying it's easy. But… At least you know there's a good reason why you have to leave. And, I mean, it's not like she's going to remember that you've gone anywhere,"

"Is she gonna forget me?"

You'd thought about that long before he asked the question. The answer was yes. Without him being in front of her every day, it was likely she'd not react to him like normal when he got home. Your mum had told you that when you were about Lyla's age she had to go on a work trip. You'd ignored her for a week after but eventually fell back in love like nothing had happened. She assured you Lyla would be fine. Part of you hoped that all the magic of Van's life would mean she just wouldn’t forget. But, even Van's literal life was defying biology, and he'd probably not get to do that second time around.

"I don't know. It'll be alright. We'll work it out."

Saying goodbye had never been so hard. Seeing him get into Larry's car was an ache that was almost unbearable. The only way you could keep it together was because Lyla was on your hip, crying. She held out little hands to Van when he handed her over. Her fingers wriggled in a beg for him to take her back. Van tried to not cry but he was too sad, too hurt. That left you to be the stoic.

After they had driven away and turned the street corner, you quickly went inside, put Lyla on her blanket and let yourself fall apart. Your sobbing was so guttural and came from somewhere so deep in you that it almost made you throw up. The sound obviously scared Lyla, so she cried harder too. If it all wasn't all so fucking sad it could have been funny.

 

…

 

Van was flying home a few days before everyone else on the tour. After their final commitments, they were staying to celebrate and see the sights. All Van wanted was you, Lyla and home. You beamed at him as he rode down the airport escalators, unable to move around the people in front of him. He was bouncing on the spot. Lyla was babbling in your arms, excited to be in a space with so many things to look out. She wasn't like other one and a half-year-olds that were scared of loud sounds and lots of movement. She had Van's extroverted nature. 

Van dropped his bag and wrapped his arms around you tight, Lyla sandwiched between your chest and his. His kiss was rough and needy. He was homesick and you were medicine. After holding your face in his hands and looking at you for a solid fifteen seconds, he turned his attention to his firstborn. 

Lyla hadn't seen Van in a couple months. She didn't have the attention span to focus on the laptop screen for Skype conversations either, so she'd not really had reminders of his face and movement. He went to take her from your arms and she started to squirm and squeal. Her little arms waved frantically for you to take her back. 

"Hey. Hey, Ly, baby. It's me. You're okay," he said. She looked at him, maybe recognising his voice, but quickly she started to cry. You took one of her hands and held it, and touched her nose gently.

"Lyla. What's wrong?" you asked like she was capable of communicating her emotional experience in a coherent way. "Huh? It's Daddy." She cried harder, drawing attention from people in the airport.

"She doesn't recognise me," Van concluded. You could see the hurt in his face. 

"You've been gone for a while. We knew this would happen. Just give her a couple of hours and she'll remember," you replied. It did nothing to quell the hurt. Van let you take Lyla from him. She stopped crying immediately and cuddled into you. Knife, twisted.

After collecting his bags, you led Van to where you'd parked. He took the driver's seat as you buckled Lyla into her chair. Van watched in the rear view mirror, chewing his lip and probably already working out how he could keep Catfish's successful high without having to tour for long periods of time again. 

On the ride home, Van was quiet. For the first ten minutes he was listening to Lyla's babbling. You could always tell when he was because there was a small smile on his face that had only come into existence when she had. When she fell asleep, he put the radio on.

"Are you gonna tell me about the tour?" you asked him.

Van sighed and looked at you. It was a for a few seconds longer than he should have, given he was driving. Eyes back on the road, his hands tightened around the steering wheel.

"Yeah. Um, it was good. Same as others, you know? I… Uh. People knew all the words… and stuff… And… Uh,"

"Van?" you interrupted. You could see his chest expanding and contradicting too quickly. His knuckles were white. If he chewed his lip any harder he was going to split it. He glanced over briefly. His mouth opened like he was going to reply but he closed it. You gave him a few more seconds before reaching over and putting your hand on his thigh.

"She doesn't remember me," he said. His voice was calm but it was too quiet for it to be any indication that he was okay.

You didn't know how to make him feel better. Lyla was still a baby. She put soap in her mouth and wore nappies and laughed at highly inappropriate times. Her not instantly recognising Van didn't mean a thing. Logically he knew that but it hurt him. He'd felt all cut up about leaving in the first place. This just made it worse.

Van carried a sleeping Lyla into the house. He sat with her on the couch, Little Mary at his feet. You brought him tea and he carefully drank around his daughter. When she woke up, he fed her. She didn't cry but she certainly wasn't happy about your position across the room. She'd watch the spoon come close, look at you, you'd nod, she'd look at Van for a long while, then open her mouth. Each spoonful the same thing happened.

When he gave her a bath, she wouldn't take her favourite duck from him. He put it on the water near her, then she happily picked it up and splashed about. When he bundled her up in a blanket to watch a movie with her, she kicked her way free and stared at him defiantly.

"She's messin' with you," you told him. He looked up and sighed. "That's better than crying. Means she trusts you, so she must remember you some,"

"Maybe she does and she's just angry I left,"

"What a salty baby," you laughed. You sat down on the armchair opposite Van and Lyla. She looked over at you and smiled. "Don't look at me like that. Why are you doing this to him? Huh?" She giggled and babbled.

 

…

 

Van didn't leave the house for a week and whatever room he was in, Lyla would be taken with. Slowly, hour by hour, day by day, Lyla fell in love with Van all over again. You could hear her hysterical giggling and his constant one sided conversation with her. From the bedroom door, you watched them sitting opposite each other on the bed. Lyla was propped up with a stack of pillows. Van had an acoustic guitar in his lap and he was singing to her. She was watching intently, her eyes flicking to his hands when they moved to switch chords.

On day eight of Van being home, Lyla cried out for him in the morning. It became obvious she wanted him when you stumbled through the dark at 5 am just to have her push your hands away and refute your attempts to comfort her. You carried her screaming squirming body to your bedroom and tipped her gently into the bed. She crawled over to Van and burrowed into his side. He looked up and grinned.

"Yeah. Yeah. I know. You’re her favourite again. Congrats," you said, climbing back under the covers.

 

... 

 

"It's like… I fuckin' hate kids, right, but then I look at her, and she's… She's the best person I've ever met?" Bondy said from next to you on the couch, trying to explain how he felt about Lyla. She was standing on his legs and trying to get his hat off. He kept ducking from her and she giggled at the game.

"Are you saying you like her more than you like me?" you asked.

"Oh, yeah. I love you and McCann, but… she's like…"

"Yeah, I know," you replied laughing. Lyla looked at you, the sound of your laugh drawing her attention. "Do you love her enough to go change her nappy though?"

Before Bondy could reply Van appeared and picked Lyla up. "I got her," he said and walked off down the hall.

"I would have,"

"Sure, Bond."

 

…

 

"We're gonna get one," Dani said as she handed Lyla to you. She and Benji had babysat and she was now sure that they would immediately begin trying for their own little Lyla.

"Yeah?! Do it. They can be best friends and Ly will look out for them at school and stuff. It will be cute," you replied. Benji and Van walked in from where they were having a smoke outside.

"What'll be cute?" Benji asked.

"Catfish babies," Dani replied. "We're having a kid, okay?"

"Sure. If it's anything like Ly I'm in," he replied, reaching out to boop her nose.

It took them half an hour to say goodbye to Lyla and finally tear themselves away from her.

 

…

 

You realised it had been over an hour since you left Bob and Lyla in the backyard. Van was still playing Fifa with Larry in the lounge room.

"Have they come in yet?" you asked them.

"Huh?" Van replied, not looking up. "Mate! You can't do that!"

"Fuck, McCann. If you were any worse at passing, you'd be a fuckin' kidney stone," Larry laughed.

"Van? Your daughter. Firstborn. Love of your life. Queen of all you've seen. Where's she at?"

He paused the game and looked up from the floor.

"Sorry, babe. They're still outside. You okay?"

"Yeah. All good. Can you go make her some lunch though? I'll go get her,"

"Yep. On it," he said, but resumed the game.

Outside Bob was sitting on the grass as Lyla crawled through a garden bed. She was pulling at flowers and making a pile of them. You stood next to Bob and he looked up at you. He grinned and quickly snapped a photo of you before you could stop him.

"Asked for photos of her, not me," you warned. He smiled again. "Also, a few photos. Not a one hour long photoshoot. You can stop whenever you want,"

"She's too cute not to photograph, Y/N. It's like she knows it too,"

"She's Van's kid. Of course she knows it. Anyway. Come inside soon. Almost lunchtime."

Bob nodded, and returned his attention and camera lens to Lyla. He was right, she knew what was up. She held out a bunch of flowers to him in the making of the greatest photo that would ever exist.

 

…

 

You watched Lyla waddle through the café, Larry following close behind. She walked out the open door to where a golden retriever puppy was sitting. It started to wag its tail and bark as she walked to it.

"Van, look," you said.

You both watched as Larry quickly picked Lyla up and appeared to apologise to the dog's owner. The owner was a pretty girl in a Blur t-shirt. She shook her head, said something, and Larry put Lyla back on the ground. The puppy licked her face, and even from across the café you could hear the giggling.

"Is he using our kid to pick up?" Van asked with a chuckle.

Larry was definitely flirting. You put on your practised Larry voice and started to give their conversation a voice over. "Oh, hi, yeah, this is me mate's kid. Super cute? I'm like, her uncle basically. She loves me the most," you said. Van laughed.

"Oh, she's just adorable," Van replied, in a mock girl voice. "You're so good with her! This definitely makes me wanna suck-"

"Van!" you interrupted, throwing a piece of your toast crust at him. Somehow he caught it. He popped it into his mouth and chewed through a smirk.

You'd not seen the end of the conversation Larry had with the girl. He reappeared at the table. He slipped a piece of paper into his pocket.

"What ya got there, mate?" Van asked.

"Nothing. Your kid. Got one of them baby wipes, Y/N? She's got dog drool on her face,"

"Yeah. Here," you said, pulling the pack from your bag. "Saw that happen,"

"Doggy!" Lyla said. You nodded at her.

"Yeah, mate. Saw you use my baby as girl bait," Van accused. Larry went red.

"Did not. Ly went to the dog. Crystal was a bonus,"

"Crystal, is it!? Mate!" Van laughed.

You watched Lyla squirm as Larry tried to clean her face. God, she was so, so loved.

 

…

 

"Good?" you asked as Van returned from putting Lyla to bed. He nodded and crashed down on the couch with you.

"She's good,"

"You?"

"Very good. Got everything I need," he replied. He curled up next to you with his head in your lap. His hair was growing long again. It always did when he wasn't on tour or doing press. You liked it better like this. It was long enough that you could braid it a little. He liked it when you played with his hair. Lyla had inherited that trait. Her hair was blonde, but thicker than most toddlers her age. She would coo quietly when you tried to put it into a little pony tail. When she was upset for no good reason, it would just take some gentle patting to calm her down. "How are you?" Van asked as you brushed his hair out.

"Good,"

"Good," he replied with a smile. Everything was all good, like it always had been, and always would be.


End file.
